


Changeling

by ysse_writes



Series: Four  Princes [2]
Category: Celtic Mythology, Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farfarello hunts. In Ireland. On Oiche Samhain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: The characters and situations of “Weiss Kreuz” are copyrighted by Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss. They are used without permission, with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. This is merely a fan tribute. Still, please don’t forward, archive, or use without permission.
> 
> Author’s notes and warnings: I can’t even tell you how badly I mangled and manipulated Irish mythology, especially as with regards to the Sidhe/Tuatha de Daanan and the story of Thomas the Rhymer, to suit my purposes. Serious students of mythology and Irish people need not send me incendiary messages regarding any inconsistencies or misrepresentations, I am fully aware of them. I mean no disrespect, just to tell a story of my own. Please take note that this a Farfarello story with everything that implies — violence, blasphemy, and a good dose of everything that makes nice people cringe. If you have a problem with a story containing these concepts, or can’t take these concepts in context, or don’t understand that this is just fiction, please read no further. Some inconsistencies are bound to be present. This story does not even consider the OAVS or Gluhen or the manga or the CD dramas, because I am poor and lazy and this would never have gotten done otherwise.
> 
> Additional notes are found at the end of the story.

_He stood at the edge of the dark forest--a cliché if there ever was one. But, ah, Ireland was the land of poetry, after all, and certain clichés were once poetry, their bite and luster dulled by misuse. Just as there was nothing as unstoppable as an idea whose time had come, there was nothing as pathetic as a verse whose time had passed. But Ireland was beyond that, would never pass into cliché, no matter how much Hollywood and the trashy romance novels abused it.  Ireland's heart was hidden, and so it could never be truly hurt._

_God was another matter entirely._

_It had been years since last he was here, in this country. Losing his eye had not diminished the green of the shamrock or the blue of the sky.  The colors lingered, stubborn and confident, long past sunset or summer. They would leave, but in their own time._

_Shadows lengthened. In the distance, he could hear the village settling down, the townspeople returning to the presumed safety of their homes.  This night, in America, where the rest of Schwarz had chosen to regroup after their last inconclusive battle with Weiß, children would be roaming the streets. They would go in colorful costumes, in search of sweets and mischief, while their parents, with bright lights and revelry, opened their homes to the night._

_Fools._

_But foolish, too, the sentimentality that brought him back, this strange prickling of his not-quite-right heart. Despite everything he was an Irishman.  That, too, was a cliché, but it was one all Irishmen accepted, if not relished._

_And after all, this was Oiche Samhain, the last night of the year._

_His senses pricked, a not-unfamiliar sensation.  Something lurked in the shadows, watching him, thinking dark thoughts. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, already tasting the blood._

_The sun had set, the forest dark.  It was Oiche Samhain.  Only a madman, they still say, would enter the forest on this night. Sheer lunacy to intrude upon the place where the King of Faerie and the Great Hunt ruled._

_His eyes gleamed, the color of firelight, smile flashing as he moved into the shadows._

_When it came to hunts, he'd wager he could teach the High King a thing or two._

 

She sat upon her bedchamber, her face pale and cold, and there was no lovelier sight on the Earth, or beyond it.

He could say this quite truthfully. The Tuatha de Daanan were the most beautiful creatures in existence and she was their Queen. And she was his wife.

" _Astorin_ ," he said, softly, "the chariot is ready.  Will you not ride with me tonight?  Will you once again deprive our realm of your beauty, as you have these scores of years past?"  He gave her a small smile.  "They will be so disappointed, my love."

The snort of disgust, her only acknowledgement of his presence, was delicate despite its vehemence. "And what matter is it to me if they are?"

He sighed. She had not even looked at him. How long since she had smiled, at him or at anyone else? How long since she had laughed? "My love, will the Lady Danu not be pleased to see you walk the earth again?" He took her hand.  "Some say the reason Ireland falters is because you have hidden your face."

"And what care I about the Gaels and their sorry plight?" she returned, coldly.  "Is it not enough that they've stolen our land, pushed us back to the very heart of Tir Na Og?  Only here are we truly safe.  And yet they seek us at Midsummer, or at Samhain, or at Beltaine, as if we were but mere jesters to be called out for their amusement."

"My love-"

"We've cared for their land and watched over their lives.  Unwilling, sometimes, but bound by the Laws of the Lady Danu," she continued, "and how have they repaid us?"

It was an old argument.  Ages old, lives old. " _Astorin_ ," he murmured, almost desperately.  "It has been so long, even by our count, can you not-"

She grew still.  "Never," she declared, her eyes and her voice as cold as the sea in which Selkies swim.

His face grew harsh.  "The child is gone, my love," he said. "Not even our Lady can change that."

She twisted towards him, her face suddenly livid with pain and rage. "He was my son!" she screamed. "My son!"

" _Our_ son," he corrected, sorrow marking his face as clearly as rage marked hers. "Mine to mourn as well as yours."

She almost laughed. "You've spent far too much time with mortals, my Lord," she sneered. "First you believe a mortal's lies then you borrow their convenient memory. You were eager enough to forget him then."

He could not deny it.  "I had no choice." Such impotent rage, it would have destroyed him, destroyed his land. "Our enemies knew us well.  They planned well."

"They call us seducers, tricksters. And yet a mortal man, a mere singer of songs and teller of tales, ensorcelled the King of Faerie, spinning a web of lies, turning the King from his Queen and his son."

He frowned.  "I refuse to claim the fault in its entirety, my Lady," he said.  "We have made quite a few enemies, you and I.  And our people, though bound by the Lady's Laws, are not exactly the picture of virtue and piety."

"Your distrust lost us our son!" she shouted. "Do not speak to me of fault. _You_ brought that man here."

"I brought him for you!" he protested. "You thought him fair and you laughed at his flattery."

"I?" She laughed again. "You brought him here, a mortal, and you believed him when he told you the child was his! And in your anger and jealousy you turned your face and you let him take my child!"

"He was lost to us!" He took a deep breath. "I tried, my Lady, you were there. You know I tried."

She hung her head, accepting that. "Yes," she agreed. "I was there." She sighed, infinitely sad. "I do not blame you, my Lord, not entirely. He was very fair. And I was happy enough to share your new toy then."

"And I should not have believed a mortal over my Queen," he said. "No matter how fair or sweet-tongued."

She smiled, tightly, humorlessly. "Legends claim we exacted our vengeance upon that tongue. To mortals, the truth is always a punishment."   She turned away. "The sun sets, my Lord," she informed him.

The King sighed, too. He stood up and reached out, touching her shoulder gently. " _Astorin_ ," he said his tone beseeching. "He was our son, the Prince of Faerie. Just as you are Queen and I am King.  He is gone, yet Faerie remains, and we both have duties to our people."

"Go then," she returned, flatly. "Go to your Ride. But you ride alone."

He sighed again, taking the hand from her shoulder. "The Lord of the Dead never rides alone, my Lady," he corrected, sternly, tiredly. "There are aplenty to accompany me, and their touch is not half as cold as yours." He bowed in her direction, before sweeping grandly out of her bedchamber.

She did not look after him.

 

_The Barguest's nose lifted, sniffing the wind. His prey had disappeared, but the smell of blood had only grown stronger. Strange, strange, strange, something whispered, but hunger growled and drowned it out. On this night at least, the Rules were clear.  Rather say that on this night there were none at all._

_Oiche Samhain, and all that existed were life and death._

 

Her mirror flickered, something it had not done in recent memory. She supposed she would not have known had it done so, she had not looked into it for ages. But it flickered now, then stronger, till an image formed upon its polished surface.

A man, a mortal man;  tall and spare, with moonbeam hair and eyes the color of foxfire.

Or rather, an eye; for one was covered by a black patch. His skin was pale, paler than his hair, and closer inspection revealed a series of scars marring the perfection of his countenance.

She felt a shiver pass through her, she who did not know the meaning of fear.

And she sat, fascinated, as the stranger left the Barguest twitching on the forest floor, and moved deeper into the forest.

 

_The Bugul-Noz was the first to find the body of the Barguest. Its fiery eyes were dimmed; horns, fangs and claws proven useless against the enemy it had met upon Death's Road._

_He felt no sadness, but the stench of mortality clung to the Barguest's pelt and that he could not ignore. This was his forest and the Hellhound was one of his charges. No sorrow, only responsibility. Only rage._

_It took only a few moments to find the source of the smell. He'd been there but a heartbeat when the man turned in his direction. It was strange, yes, but this was Oiche Samhain, when mortals seemed to be more aware of the existence of the Folk than usual. Rules changed on Oiche Samhain, when the Veil thinned and the Dark ruled. The year lay dying, the new not yet born and the two worlds, past and future, mortal and immortal met._

_Had this been any other day, any other night, he would have retreated into the shadows. Had the man had not harmed one of his charges, one of his kin, he would have been bound not to harm unless harmed first. Even then, it usually took no more than a glimpse of his visage to frighten the trespasser out of his wits, and out of his forest._

_But this was Oiche Samhain, the Day of the Dead, and the High King would be riding by soon.  And it would be a pity, the Bugul-Noz thought, grinning, a real pity, if the stranger had to lie in his forest, a whole year dead, before he could pass into the Underworld. A real pity indeed._

 

It was over in moments. The Bugul-Noz had been smarter -- having a humanoid form and humanoid traits. It had approached warily, careful to keep its back straight, its face hidden beneath the brim of an old, ill-fitting cap.

The stranger had returned its hail, politely, if somewhat flatly.

Too late the Bugul-Noz had seen the gleam in his eyes. Too late he'd seen the glint of a dagger.

The stranger stood then, a small smile twisting his mouth. The Queen watched, her eyes growing brighter while her attendants gasped in horror and disgust as the stranger raised his knife, his tongue flicking out to lick at the bloodied blade.

She turned then to her window, her eyes blazing as they have not in ages. "Amadan!" she shouted to the night air, and her attendants cringed back at the sound of her voice. "My Amadan!" she called, summoning her personal courier. "Attend to me!"

She did not have to wait long.

"My husband," she demanded, rising as the Amadan flew into her bedchamber, ignoring the horrified squawks of her attendants. The Queen rise to meet a mere imp?  How scandalous. Even the Amadan looked shocked as she impatiently waved away his attempts at a curtsey; the Queen had always been such a stickler for protocol. "Where is my husband?"

The Amadan looked confused, his tiny wings beating nervously. "The Ride has begun, my Lady," he answered. Night had fallen, surely her Majesty could see that for herself?

"Call him back," she ordered.

Her attendants gasped again. "My Lady," the imp protested, "you know the Laws better than any of Danu's children.  No one can interrupt the Ride or the--"

He stopped. The Queen was not listening. She was gazing intently at her mirror, where the Amadan could vaguely see a man-shape walking among the trees. "My Queen?"

"Summon the Rakshasas," she said, her eyes never leaving the mirror. "I have a task that needs their teeth."

 

_He could hear them coming from miles away._

_Distantly, he noted that Schwarz needed to get back in the game very soon. He has been bored far too long._

_There were at least a dozen of them, descending upon him like the demon horde they were.  Rakshasas, he recognized from the old tales. Sister Ruth had told Jei a story about them once, how they'd been sent by the Sidhe Lord to punish a village. The shape-shifting demon-goblins had killed everything that crossed their path. Only a young girl survived, spared so she could carry the tale.  They'd stolen something from the Sidhe, Ruth had claimed, though she'd forgotten what it was. She'd forgotten, too, the name of the village, as well as the name of the child who survived.  She left behind a lot of things, she'd told him, when she joined the Church._

_The biggest one came up to him, and laughed at the sight of him; a man alone, with a single knife._

_He laughed as well, then stepped back; disappearing again, into the shadows._

 

News travels faster in Faerie than anywhere else.

Despite her long disinterest in her kingdom's affairs, she was still their Queen. They'd come to her, panicked and afraid, on this night that should been marked only by revelry.  Even now they waited for her to appear, to reassure them, to instruct them on how to deal with this intruder, this danger. 

From her window she could see a group of Asparas flying about madly like demented fireflies. They were upset by the death of the Barguest. They were all kin here, all Faerie, though no two creatures could have been more patently different. The Skydancers were tiny fragile creatures, drawn to revelry and merry-making, disposed towards blessings and protection. They enjoyed christenings and weddings while Barguests were found at wakes and funerals. They led innocents away while the Barguests led towards danger.

She could hear, too, the Ly Erg having a loud discussion with some Bogles. Fancying itself a soldier, it was presenting some plan of defense for the castle, while the Bogles were all for hunting down the stranger and killing him. She snorted inwardly at that. Bogles could only harm murderers and liars, and one this man certainly was, but not the other. The truth shone from him like a beacon. It was probably what had driven him mad.

And mad he was.  That would have been unmistakable, even by human eyes, and hers were anything but.

The noise outside grew louder, more fearful, more panicked. They could feel him approaching, they all could. He was moving towards the Veil. And he was getting ever closer.

She was almost glad of it, this growing unrest. They'd grown soft, her people.  Content to be shadows, content to walk the earth only on certain dates, as if they were visitors, as if this was not their land, given to them by the Lady long before the shadow of Man ever appeared to stain it. Content to be dreams, to be children's stories, when once they were gods.

They were frightened now, terrified, but they were angry, too. Now they were showing claw and teeth.

"My Lady, it seems the Rakshasas are all dead," the Amadan said, softly, as if she could not see it for herself.  His head was bowed, and she knew he was more afraid of her than of any mortal man, no matter how mad or powerful.

She turned to him, then, smiling, and felt his fear grow even more. "One more task, my Amadan," she said, softly.  "One more errand.  The Black Annis.  Tell them to bring me his heart."

 

_They were beautiful. Pale and lovely, soft and enticing._

_Even lovelier when their faces were painted with blood._

_He wasn't surprised when they turned, becoming vicious and ugly; he was well versed with the duplicity of females. That lesson was learned long ago, from a master who'd been lovelier with her cross and cap than any half-naked seductress could ever be.  It was their nature, all smiles and promises and lies._

_No, he wasn't surprised at how they turned._

_Only at how easily they died._

 

The moon still high when the High King returned from his Ride. His fair face was scowling; even during the ride the whispers had reached him, the newly dead bearing the tale. Terrible, they all agreed. A sacrilege, on this night of nights.

A demon from hell.

A monster.

Samhain was a time of peace, a time of celebration and thanksgiving. He did not fancy starting the new year by going off to war.

Not again, he thought, not again. Has Faerie not suffered enough? **_Lady Danu, help us._**

He still remembered the last war, ages ago by mortal standards but fresh in his memory.  It was Human nature, to destroy what they did not understand, what they perceived to be a threat. The Lady's Children had Gifts, but the sheer number of the mortals had driven them back, as his Queen had recently reminded him, to the heart of Tin Na Og. Here they hid, depending on the Veil, the magical border that separated and hid Faerie from the mortal realm, to protect them. They'd learned to make do, learned to stay away, to keep to their Realm, showing their face only when the Laws of Danu deemed it necessary. They'd learned to use tricks, glamour, to look helpless and weak, to seduce and charm whenever necessary. It wasn't enough. Immortal they were, but the killing continued. There were so few of them left. Whoever, whatever this mortal was, he would have to be stopped.

As always, his first stop was his Lady's bedchamber, where she spent all of her time these days. Since the loss of their son she had grown increasingly disinterested in the affairs of her kingdom, and in her King, but she was still Queen.

And she was still his love.

The sight that met him was startling as it was inappropriate. His love was laughing merrily as her ladies attended to her dress, her hair. They looked confused, a little afraid, but pleased at her renewed spirit. Surely nothing could be seriously amiss if their Queen was so happy?

"My Lord!" she exclaimed upon seeing him. "You have returned!" No one was more surprised than the King when she rushed to him and threw her arms around him.

There are not many things, in the human realm or in Faerie, that can confuse and alarm the High King of the Sidhe. In fact, only one being in all creation has the power to do to both at once. "My Lady?" Was she worried, he wondered. Frightened? But she had been laughing, her eyes sparkling as he had not seen them do in ages. He closed his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her hair.  It had been so long since she'd approached him, since she'd allowed him to touch her. He wished they could stay this way longer, but he could feel the disturbance within his kingdom growing even stronger, the threat coming nearer.

"My Lady, have you news of the shadow in our forest? The dead brought such dark tales to the Ride."

She smiled, and again he was startled. "I have more than news of him, my Lord," she said, taking his arm. "Come, my love. Come and see."

She pulled him to the mirror, her attendants bowing out of the way. He was again surprised to see that there was an image there, he could not remember when it had last shown a vision.

It showed a man, deep within his forest, walking idly, as if talking a mere moonlit walk.  A mortal man, he sneered. _This_ was the creature that had caused so much destruction in his kingdom, caused so many of his people to die?  How? There was no sign of magic within him, and he carried no great weapon. All he had was one lone knife, not even particularly well made.  His mouth twisted in disgust.

"He is headed this way," she said. "Towards Tir Na Og.  Towards the Veil."

He was startled at that piece of information. How? he asked himself once more. There were hundreds of wards around the Veil, guaranteed to mislead those who strayed too near.

It hadn't always been so. There'd been a time when they lived more openly with Man, and often invited mortals to visit their kingdom. But men were weak, greedy and treacherous. So many stories about hapless mortals falling prey to the wicked lures of the Folk -- humans were ever adept at distorting the truth, at ignoring the other side of the story. No one ever told the real tales; countless lies and betrayals until, finally, even the generosity of the Folk had run dry.

They had learned their lesson well, his people. Now, none but the very wise and very powerful Gaels even knew of existence of the Veil. The few who had stumbled across it did so through sheer luck or stupidity.

But this man was walking straight towards it, as if he was drawn to it or knew where it was.

"I had been planning to send the Redcap and the Ly Erg against him," his wife continued. "Two of our most bloodthirsty kin, who've killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of mortals through the ages. Shall we see how he fares against them?"

He wondered at her tone, at the strange secret sparkle in her eyes. He had never been good at reading his wife despite the millennia they'd spent together. But she was the Queen of Faerie and she loved her people as much as he did. He was glad she'd taken the initiative of trying to protect the forest.

He shook his head. "We shall end this quickly," he said. "I will not have this night further stained with the blood of our people. He may be powerful, this mortal, but no creature, Man or Faerie, can stand against the Unnamed One. He will protect us, as he always has. Let this be done before the dawn. Let this shadow depart before the new year arrives."

She seemed momentarily troubled, worried. Then she nodded her head, decisively. "You are right, my Lord," she agreed. "Let us settle this now."

 

_He remembered now, another of Ruth's stories, the one that had broken Jei. It was the Gan Ceanach, she'd said, who'd made her do it. With his sparkling black eyes, like winter's night, and his soft voice. He'd promised her... She'd forgotten what he promised her, just as she'd forgotten his name. But it was him. She'd never have done it, have fallen, otherwise._

_Lies, all lies. Sweet as sugar, falling from his tongue like songs._

_She thought he'd been a man. But it must have been the Gan Ceanach. A monster, a demon, one of the Folk. She must've been ensorcelled, she must have been._

_She was a good girl. She was pure and chaste and she'd always meant to enter the nunnery, give her body and life to God. It wasn't her fault.  He was the one who'd made her do it. He was the one who'd gotten her with child._

_Lies._

_Lies._

_Liar _.__

_A darker shadow fell across his path. He looked up._

_A smile met his gaze, promising death._

_He smiled back._

 

The King's curses could be heard throughout the palace, and his court shivered at every word.  The Unnamed One had failed, fallen, and the Shadow, as the stranger was now called, drew ever nearer to the Veil.

"The Veil will stop him," he assured his wife.

"Perhaps," she acceded. "Or perhaps he will use the cold iron of his knife to tear that into shreds as well. Remember that this is Oiche Samhain, one of the nights when the Veil is thinnest, when mortals and Faerie may freely cross.  You to your Ride, our people to their revelry," she added.

"There are Laws," he returned, shaking his head, denying the possibility. "He was cursed by the pale god's water, I can smell it, and therefore he cannot cross."

"We shall see," she said.

 

_He was really starting to like this forest, he decided. It was like that amusement park Nagi had dragged them all to a few weeks ago, throwing such a hissy fit about going he'd given Schuldig a headache and nearly flattened the hotel they'd been staying at. But, of course, that place hadn't been as much fun. The screams weren't the kind of screams he liked and the rubber ducks were, well, rubber. And Crawford had gotten all pinched-looking when he had_ _used his dagger at the balloon toss, and Schuldig had complained incessantly about how what a pain it was to wipe the memories of so many people at once and how he'd be tasting that crap for **days**_ _._

_But the lights on the water had been pretty. Like those lights he'd seen a little while ago, that seemed to call him by name._

_He was well trained, though. He knew a diversion when he saw one._

_When Nagi and Crawford had finally come home they brought him a cone of cotton candy--spider-silk strands of blue, sticky and sparkly, with hidden sharp edges. He thought it reminded him of something, but he couldn't remember what.   He'd spent an entire minute staring at it before Nagi had laughed and told him to just eat it, it wouldn't bite._

_He hadn't quite been sure about that._

_He stopped suddenly. Nothing had changed, trees and more trees littered the path before him.  But he had arrived, he knew this instinctively. Whatever it was that had drawn him into the forest, it was there. Something was there. Something that was both calling to him and pushing him away._

_He held out his hand, testing for it, took one step forward._

 

"You see?" the King of Faerie said. "Even at its weakest the Veil holds. He cannot cross."

The Queen remained quiet, watching with a small smile. The Shadow kept pushing against the Veil, and the Veil kept pushing back, but she could feel it faltering with every new attempt. The Shadow could feel it, too. She could tell by how his smile grew in infinitesimal increments.

"Once the sun rises the Veil will be impenetrable," he added.

"Our defenses have never been impenetrable," the Queen replied. "You should have learned that by now."

The King's lips thinned, his patience vanishing. He pulled his hand from her grasp and stood apart to glare at his wife, who was still smiling at the image. "Enough of this," he ordered. "I will not have you speak so, alarming our people with your dire pronouncements." He lowered his voice. "You dare do this, my Lady? You dare praise this monster, dare find amusement at the murder of our people?"

"Monster?" she demanded in turn, turning to him, her eyes blazing. “And when have mortals ever called us anything else?” Then she laughed, shaking her head. "I should not be surprised," she said, without humor. "I had hoped you would know him now, as you did not then." Her gaze turned reproachful, almost sad. "I had hoped that the High King's eyes had grown clearer through the years."  She gestured back to the mirror. "Look closer, my Lord. Use the eyes of your heart. Tell me what you see."

Startled by her words, he looked back at the mirror. The stranger was standing still, his face upwards, towards the lightening sky. He was hard to look at, hard to see, pale skin and hair almost indiscernible in the fading moonlight. If he'd been Faerie the King would have said it was a glamour. Then the stranger turned, as if he knew they were watching. His eyes seemed to meet the King's across the vision.

Unearthly eyes met his own, burning like pale fire.

He watched, stunned, as the man bowed, slightly, in their direction, then turned and started to walk away.

"How?" he asked, hoarsely. He turned back to his Queen.  "Is it truly?"

"I knew upon seeing him," she said, softly. "The tests were for your benefit, not mine." She smiled again, this time genuinely, softly. "Yes, it is he," she told him, her voice shaking with emotion. "My Lord, behold your son."

 

_Morning. Even deep in the forest he could feel the sun rising, the shadows becoming less tangible, less solid. There were laws for this kind of work. He was Irish enough to know that._

_Though it was a pity,  he thought, that he'd promised Crawford he'd be on that chartered flight back to America. He hadn't had so much fun in a very long while._

_He grinned to himself._

_Maybe he'll come back next year._

_He traced his way back to the scraggly path that led back to the larger one that led to the actual path that led back to the tiny cottage he was staying at._

_It was a quaint and cozy little cottage, which sometimes took in the odd traveler.  He had insisted on a very quiet, very private, very out of the way little bed and breakfast and he had actually been quite pleased at with it.  There would be no breakfast, of course, at least not more than the fruits left on the bowl on the shiny kitchen table or what he could scrounge from the breadbox and the refrigerator._

_Innkeepers were a nice and quiet lot.  Hardly even screamed._

_Ah, but those things in the forest were another matter entirely.  Nothing nice and quiet and ordinary about those. That last one especially. That one had wings upon its back and fur upon its arms and the strangest eyes he had ever seen._

_He didn't recognize that one, hadn't heard of anything like it from any story._

_It had been powerful, strong both in body and in mind, stronger than all of the others put together.  It had fought, oh so bravely, confident of his power._

_Bravely and well, though in vain._

_And perhaps most extraordinary of all: as it had lain beneath him dying, its wings fluttering helplessly beneath his blade, it had opened up its mouth, full of sharp, utterly useless teeth._

_"What are you?" it had hissed, all desperation and fear. "What in Danu's name **are** you?"_ _  
_

 

It was over, the Folk of the forest murmured. The new year had arrived and the danger past. The Shadow had returned from whence he came. The Veil had held. Praise the Lady, they were safe.

Meanwhile, deep in Tir Na Og, the High King and his Queen continued to watch their son.

"He did not see us," the King said, sounding disappointed.

"No," his wife agreed. "But we have found him, finally. We shall not lose him again."

"It pains me to see him so," he said. "Those scars!  By Danu, who has dared touch him? I'll put a curse on him such as the Sidhe have never seen!"

"No, my love," the Queen answered. "Look," she continued, as the man in the mirror idly began to run the blade of his knife against his face. "He inflicts them upon himself."

The King looked shocked, then understanding flared.  "Those damn Gaels with their pale god of guilt and suffering!

She nodded. "He feels no pain, my Lord. Though it seems that he wishes to."

He gasped again.  "No pain? They've driven him mad!"

"Yes," the Queen agreed.  "Wouldn't you be, as well?" she rejoined. "Wouldn't any of us? Trapped, out there, without a way to come home?" She grew quiet. "I remember now. They called him Jei."

"Jei?" he asked, curiously. "That is not even a Gaelic-" He stopped, then hissed in fury. "Dei? They named him Dei? The commonest name, a name used to make our people the butt of insults and jokes? They would _dare_?"  This was unpardonable. His courtiers shrunk back, his beautiful face terrifying in his anger.

"I know why, my Lord," she added, softly.

"What, my Lady?" he said, still intent on the vision his son. He was leaving again, and they were just as helpless to stop him now.

"They hid him from us," she said. "Wrote stories of a hero who'd braved the wrath of the Faerie Queen to save his son. I believed that part, at least, that the Minstrel thought the child to be his. More lies. The Queen should listen to her own counsel."  She laughed, suddenly. "Sweet Danu, I shall never doubt you again."

" _Astorin_ ," he said. "What are you saying?"

"I know why they took him, my Lord," she said, her voice still soft, but strong with conviction. "Finally, I know why they were so fearful they stole the heir of the Tuatha de Daanan.  And I know why they did what they did, why they tainted him with the pale god's water, preventing us from reclaiming him, preventing us from ever holding him in our arms again." 

The King looked confused, but interested. "Enlighten me my Lady," he said.

She laughed again.  "Diancecht, my love, do you remember? When he stole the Morrigan's child?"

He nodded. "Yes, Morrigan's child. Prophesized to be so terrible it would destroy Ireland. He claimed he'd killed it to save the Gaels."

"Yes. He was wrong. He had the wrong child." 

"What?"

"They could not kill him," she said. "Not the High King's son. Not here, where all of the Sidhe was searching for him, not where the Lady Danu protected him. Instead they took him, hid him. They bathed him in their foul water and proclaimed he belonged to their pale god.  They took him into their houses with their wards and their iron bars, and finally they took him across the great waters so that we would never find him." She laughed again "And still, he comes here. Still he finds his way home."

"Our son? The Destroyer?" the King questioned. He shook his head. "It cannot be."

"Aye," stated his Lady. "He is one with the shadows. He has no fear, he feels no pain. He killed the Unnamed One.  With a _dagger_.  Cold iron, my Lord, which is death to us, which the humans use in legions to kill us. They have taken away his sanity, his immortality, and his powers. He is as human as they could make him.  And _still_ he bested our greatest warrior." She grabbed his hand.  "Imagine what he can do with his kingdom behind him. Imagine this land, with our son upon the throne."

"Our son." The King was quiet, weighing her words.  "He is still tainted," he pointed out. "He could not cross the Veil."

"Not now, perhaps," the Queen conceded. "But our lives are long, we have time. You felt it, as well. Despite the Curse, the Veil knew him. If he had pushed enough, it would have granted him entry." 

"The Curse is weakening," murmured the King.

“No.”  She shook her head.  " _He_ is getting stronger," she corrected.  "Soon he'll throw off this pale god's hold and return to the Lady Danu."

The King took his love into his arms. "We shall soon have our Prince back," he said, in cold satisfaction.

The Queen's answering smile was just as cold, just as fiendish. "And the Gaels shall have their war."

 

THE END

© [JCSA](mailto:jcsalbano@gmail.com) 2004

**Author's Note:**

> More Notes!
> 
>  
> 
> I. Gaelic words
> 
> 1\. Astorin – an endearment. Darling, or my love.
> 
> 2\. Oiche Samhain – All Hallow’s Eve.
> 
> II. Short descriptions of most of the faerie creatures in this story:
> 
> 1\. Barguest – A kind of Bogie. It has horns, dangerous teeth and claws, and fiery eyes. It can take many forms, but usually is a shaggy black dog.
> 
> 2\. Bugul-Noz – He’s a forest dweller, a shepherd. He’s very unattractive and he knows it, but he yearns for human companionship.
> 
> 3\. Bogle – also called bugbears. Harms liars and murderers.
> 
> 4\. Black Annis – hags. Cannibalistic. Has Siren-like abilities; you know the drill, pretty till they get you where they want you.
> 
> 5\. Rakshasas – shape-shifting demon-goblins.
> 
> 6\. Ly Erg – yearns to be a soldier. Dresses like one and cannot be distinguished from human soldiers except by his red-stained hands, red from the blood he has shed.
> 
> 7\. Redcap – one of the most evil of the old Border Goblins. He lives in old ruined towers and castles, particularly those with a history of wickedness. He re-dyes his cap in human blood.
> 
> 8\. Gan Ceanach – “Love Talker.” Seduce young mortal maidens with his twinkling black eyes and enchanting gentle voice.
> 
> 9\. Asparas – Usually female, also known as sky-dancers.
> 
> More detailed descriptions of these creatures can be found all over the web, and descriptions vary depending of the source. A nice sampling list can be found here: http://www.odyssy.net/users/erica/wicca/faerynames.htm, which lists most of the creatures I’ve used in this story.
> 
> III. I’ve purposely not named the King and Queen of Faerie in this story as I thought actual names would only limit the possibilities of the story and provide too much of a temptation to flood it with too many (sometimes contrasting) details. “Faerie King” and “Faerie Queen” worked well enough for a lot of poets, and it works well enough for me.
> 
> IV. A (very) short discussion on the Diancecht the physician and Morrigan’s child can be found here: http://user.sezampro.yu/~babbage/Celtic.html.
> 
> V. “Dei” or “Dai” – a Celtic name that means “to shine.” Though is now more commonly accepted as a diminutive for “Dafydd,” which means “beloved,” or “David.” Dei/Dai is a very common name in South Wales, and there are many stories featuring persons named Dei/Dai having dealings with the Folk and getting the upper hand. One of the most common stories featuring a person named Dei/Dai is “The Fairy Password.”


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